FINNEGANS WAKE:a dream play

by Craig Walkerbased on the novel by James Joyce

Craig Walker542 Frontenac St

Kingston, ONK7K 4M2

craig.walker@queensu.ca

FINNEGANS WAKE: a dream play

CAST:The unconventional list of characters reflects an unusual situation with their identities. Simply put, where the novel Ulysses was called “stream of consciousness,” Finnegans Wake offers, even more truly, a stream of unconsciousness. It is the dream of one man, which, at the same time, is the dream of all Irishmen and even all men. As in a dream, identity is in flux here. The most constant character is the dreamer himself, HCE, although even he regularly if imperfectly assumes other identities. The others play with more conviction many roles, and in some cases as with the Four Old Men more than one character may play one role. This reflects the structure of the novel in which there is a sort of hidden matrix at work behind the characters, in that one sees certain recurring types, although the identifications are often not explicit. The idea is conveyed in the play by having a cast of only seven actors, representing in the first place the seven people living and working in the tavern/household, whose names are in capitals, and whose lines are assigned in the text using these names, whoever else they happen to be “playing.” I can only plead that all this is much less confusing on stage than it is in reading (either novel or play). It should feel as natural as it seems odd.

The father, HCE aka HUMPHREY CHIMPDEN EARWICKER/Tim Finnegan/Finn/Tristan/King Mark. An awkward, ineffectual, passionate and guilt-ridden middle-aged tavern-keeper.

The mother, ANNA LIVIA PLURABELLE/Narrator/etc. A woman in her prime, beautiful, brunette, ageless, omniscient. She has an attractive lyrical voice, preferably smaller in stature than HCE.

The daughter, IZZY/Temptress/Washerwoman/Ondt/Old Man. Their extremely pretty daughter, and younger sister of the twins; preferably red-headed.

A son, SHEM/Soldier/Gracehoper/Old Man. Fraternal twin to Shaun, disreputable, disheveled and discontent, introverted but spirited; although young, he resembles James Joyce in his shabby, bohemian poet guise: rumpled clothes, moustache, goatee, a patch over one eye behind his glasses.

A son, SHAUN/Soldier/Tristram/Old Man. Fraternal twin to Shem, confident, dashing, well dressed, extroverted; as a rival in some ways he channels the young George Bernard Shaw, although in an extremely heroic incarnation, one filtered through Joyce’s envy and antipathy. Most importantly, he represents the Irish establishment.

A maid, KATE/Temptress/Washerwoman/Old Man. Buxom and earthy, intelligent but unsophisticated, sexually confident and teasing, by turns ebullient and pragmatic.

A manservant, TOM/Professor Jones/Quizmaster/Old Man. Mostly fun loving and helpful but sometimes threatening, with “a lean and hungry look.” He is an opportunist who may be warm, officious, pretentious or brutally caustic depending upon where the power lies at the moment.

The setting: Nominally, HCE’s tavern in Dublin called “Salmon House.” It is on the bank of the River Liffey, but sometimes IN the Liffey and elsewhere. A bar, equipped with glasses, whiskey bottles, etc. Above it, the tiny Earwicker bedroom. The pub is surreal, half reclaimed by nature. A barrel. Musical instruments, hanging by the bar and perhaps from vines and branches.

A note on the staging: This play was conceived to use alley staging. Although this is not absolutely essential, in some important respects, alley staging is ideal, for the audience finds itself seated as if upon the two banks of a river, with the bar, and above, the tiny bedroom at one end, and at the other, the “frosted glass” (employing rear projection screen material) entrance to the bar. A thrust stage could work too, particularly one with exits at the DS corners. It would still be possible, of course, to stage the play in a proscenium theatre; though in that case, care should be taken that the river is strongly suggested by the design, for in one aspect, the story takes place IN a river—a stream of unconsciousness, as it were.

ACT ONE: THE PARENTS’ DISGRACE

Scene one: Finnegan Falls

Scene two: The Park Escapade

Scene three: Arrest and Conviction

Scene four: Ressurrection

Scene five: The Gospel According to ALP

Scene six: Riddles

Scene seven: Washerwomen of the Liffey

ACT TWO: THE RIVAL SONS

Scene eight: Study Period

Scene nine: Now here’s the vintner of our discontent... (plus two recycles)

Scene ten: Tristram and Izzy

Scene eleven: Shaun the Post

Scene twelve: Stray Shauns of the Cross

Scene thirteen: Yawn Recumbent

Scene fourteen: The Return of Day.

ACT ONE

As the audience enters the theatre, HCE is in bed, asleep; beside him is a sleeping figure, a dummy that resembles the actress who plays ALP. An alarm clock is ticking quietly. The titles of the scenes are projected onto the frosted glass of the pub door (or, alternatively, onto the mirror behind the bar).

1. Finnegan Falls.

Darkness. The sound of a river begins to be heard. Gradually features emerge from the darkness, illuminated by a wavering submarine light, as though we are seeing by moonlight from deep beneath a stream. Fog. An image of a SALMON swimming upstream, lit from within, and borne by a whispering chorus who enter in procession.

VOICES. [whispering] Yes. There's where. First. We pass through grass behush the bush to. Whish. A gull. Gulls. Far calls. Coming, far! End here. Us, then... Finn, again! Take. But softly, memory! Til thousendsthee! Lps. The keys to. Given! A way a lone a last a loved a long the --

And suddenly from the many whispering voices emerges one, clear, melodic, female voice. The sound of the river recedes; the SALMON is unlit, and hung above the bar—a sort of trophy catch. ALP, who was last in the procession, stands in a special light in the centre of the stage, the river effect fading, and speaks lyrically, charmingly.

ALP. -- riverrun, past Eve and Adam's, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs. [beat] The Fall—

OTHERS. [rhythmically] Babadal-gharaghta-kamminar-tonneronn-thurnuk! [this becomes a whispered chant under ALP's speech] Babadal-gharaghta-thurnuk! Babadal-gharaghta-thurnuk!

ALP. —of the once great, wall-straight old fella is a tale retold early in bed and later on life down through all christian minstrelsy. It's a tale you’ve all known in one vision or a another, but lets call it here the tale of the Great Fall of Finnegan, that ersewhile solid Erse man. And the humptyhillhead of humself prumptly sends an unquiring one well to the west in quest of his tumptytumtoes, there in the park, where the Oranges have been laid to rust upon the Green since Dublin first loved the river Liffey.

KATE. Tell us, Anna Livia Plurabelle! Telos!

ALP. Right.

The chant ends abruptly. The lights rise on the Earwicker household, a bedroom loft above a pub, where HCE lies asleep in a bed angled sharply upwards.

ALP. [storytelling] Big Mister Finnegan, of the Stuttering Hand, mason and freemason, lived in the broadest way immarginable. This was well back before Joshua, Judges and Numbers, you understand, and in these years as he put down his Guinnesses, he put up building after building all up and down the banks of the river. The little river Liffey.

IZZY. And he had a little wifey?

TOM. A wifley river, Liffey.

ALP. Aye, he had a little wifey, Annie, and how he loved and hugged the little creature, because—

SHEM. With her own hands, she'd tuck up your part in her.

SHAUN. Whisht, ye dirty man.

ALP. ...because her voice was that lovely -- the melody of a babbling brook trickling close by yer window. For that, he loved her. [beat] And for the other thing, too. But he was a man with aspirations, you see.

One of two approaches is suggested at this point: (a) The ladder to the loft is lifted upright and away from the loft by means of a pulley suspended from the grid above and a winch operated by TOM, so that it becomes a ladder from the loft into the skies. (b) More simply, a stepladder is placed in the centre of the stage. HCE is lit from below by flashlights held by IZZY and KATE so that he is isolated in the darkness. Either way, the brothers, SHEM and SHAUN, take HCE from his bed, put him into a pair of overalls over his nightshirt, place a bowler on his head and a trowel in his hand and put him onto the ladder. HCE, climbs up a little and stands there, looking about, groggily. The sound of traffic, far below is heard.

So, often times you'd see him, far overhead upon his ladder..wearin' the overalls he particularly fancied…his trowel in his hand…and, like Haroun Childeric Eggeberth—

IZZY. That'd be H - C - E.

ALP. Which is to say, like nobody so much as himself—he'd be calculating by multiplicables, the altitude and maltitude, as he seed and sawed by the light of his liquor, gettin' his eyeful of this hierarchitectippitoppiloftical skyscraper, which had originated from next to nothing, but only the laurens o'toolers clitterin' up and the tombles a'buckets clotterin' down.

SHEM. As you might say, he'd watch his erections rise under his own hand.

ALP. So to speak. So there he stood, our hero, when...

Lighting change.

SHAUN. Ho, ho, ho, ho, Mister Finnegan!

TOM. You're going to be Mister Finn, again!

SHEM. Ha, ha, ha, ha, Master Funn!

TOM. You're going to be fined, finned and then Finn again!

HCE. What are ye talkin' about? Why do I have to be Finn? Or was it Finnegan?

KATE. Not to worry, you'll be fine again.

HCE. Saints and devils, what have I done?

ALP. [journalistic] What then, was the agent of this tragedy, this thundersday, this municipal sin business?

HCE. Now whisht, will ye! I can’t afford to stand here listening to accusations about that business in the park—

ALP. As earwitness to the thunder of his terrible lapse, we hear also through the ages the shabby chorus that would blackguardize all those that were ever hurtled out of the heavens.

HCE. Ye don't mean to say—

IZZY. We do!

ALP. It may have been a misfired brick, as some say, or it might have been due to a collupsus of his back promises, as others looked at it. There are extant by now one thousand and one tales, all told, of the same. But as sure as Adam bit Eve's apple, certain it is, that..Finnegan...fell.

Rhythmic hammering is added to the traffic noise. Echoes convey the sense of vertigo. The ladder begins to shake, at the hands of the boys.

OTHERS. Babadal-gharaghta-thurnuk! Babadal-gharaghta-thurnuk!

SHEM & SHAUN [over the others]. Humpty-Dumpty sat on the wall!

ALP. What with the sounds of the cars and the trams and the busses and trucks and the smokestacks and shouting and general uproar below—and atop of this, he was tippled full—his head felt heavy, his hod shook, and...

SHEM & SHAUN. Humpty Dumpty had a Great Fall!

Drumroll.

KATE. Dimb!

ALP. He stuttered and dithered and staggered and tottered...!

Drumroll.

IZZY. Damb!

ALP. ...Slipped away from the wall in erection, and...!

Drumroll.

TOM. Dumb!

ALP. He fell to his death!

HCE. [a long scream]

Thunder, then wind. Lightning illuminates HCE/Finnegan's fall to his death in slow motion. (Either (a) TOM lowers the ladder on the winch, or (b) HCE falls back off the ladder into the waiting arms of SHAUN & SHEM, who carry him into the dark.)

ALP. [Beat] Or, leastways, he fell asleep.

There begins a barrage of sound and vision. Thunder, wind, and, distantly, the song, "Tim Finnegan's Wake"—distorted as if a scratchy 78rpm record recalled in a dream.

Tim Finnegan lived in Walker StreetA gentle Irishman, mighty odd.He'd a bit of a brogue, so neat and sweet,And to rise in the world, Tim carried a hod.But Tim had a sort of tippling way:With a love of liquor he was born,And to help him through his work each day,Took a drop of the creature every morn.

As the lights return to normal, the head and feet of a giant, green Finn MacCool puppet has appeared. The head has the features of the actor playing HCE, except that they are

green, being ostensibly made of moss, grass, etc. The feet are clay/stone. As the thunder fades “The Ballad of Finnegans Wake” begins. ALP takes from the puppet, and serves, a heart and male genitals made of green bread.

The Ballad of Finnegans Wake

TOM. Come all ye small fishiesAnd hear this old story

TOM & KATE. Don't break from this school For posterity's sake!

IZZY, SHEM, ALP. Ye'll journey the length Of four his-stork ages

TOM, SHAUN, KATE. Dance waltzes with Giants At Finnegans Wake.

ALL. No, all the King's ho-orses And all the King's menCan't break up the Wake Of the great Finn-again.Though gone not forgottenOur Finn's close to hand:For there's parts of him lyin' All over this Land!

The next verse is demonstrated using a wheel of fortune—set within a structure resembling a Celtic cross—turning it a quarter turn to show the symbol of each of the four ages: Leda and the Swan; Castor & Pollux; Da Vinci's Mankind; a Salmon.

ALP. Well first there's the age Of the gods and the parents

SHAUN & SHEM. And next ye've the age Of aristocrat sons.

TOM & KATE. And after those heroesYour age of the people

IZZY. Then at last with recorsoThe cycle's begun.

[Chorus]

The song ends with Kate singing, in lovely Irish form, to the tune of “My Bonnie lies over the Ocean”:

KATE. Bring back, bring back! Oh bring back my own Finn MacCool!

IZZY and KATE keen while TOM pours drinks.

SHAUN. MacCool, MacCool! Why did you have to go and die!

SHEM. ...of a thirsty thursday morning?

TOM. [to the women] Here, drink some o'this. It'll take the edge off yer keenin!

IZZY. Sure, the old man has fallen, but herself has spread the board.

SHEM. De mortuis nil nisi pabulum.

Laughter.

SHAUN. Aye, let's tuck in.

They tear off and eat pieces of the wake bread, sharing it with the audience. The eyes of Finn's head flutter, roll back and forth.

HCE/FINN. Sweet Jaisus! Will ye look at the way they're gorgin themselves on me own flesh.

FINN’s eyes close as he falls disgustedly asleep.

ALP. Help yerselves, now. Sure, there's plenty more where that came from. [to the audience] You see the body of himself is now spread right throughout Dublin. From the Head of Howth to the Phoenix Park we may yet see the brontoichythan form outlined a-slumbering...

IZZY. Brontoicky-what?

ALP. Brontoichythan...a thundering, great fishy mass.

SHEM. Well sure, ye can see all that in the old man as he was. Snoring, farting, stinking and gape-mouthed.

SHAUN. That'll be enough of yer palaver, sonny-Jim.

SHEM. Jimmy this, ye bollocks.

ALP. At any rate, the city is chock-full of testimonials to his ersewhile presence. There's his feet of clay stickin' up not far from Chapelizod and the head of him still at Ben Howth. From there ye can see the Willingdone museyroom. Take yourself a tour, if you will. Though at this time of night you'll need a passkey, so ye must apply to the janitrix...

KATE. Which'd be myself. This way to the museyroom. Mind your hats goan in!

She begins to enter the FINN puppet’s head through a trapdoor in the cranium. A lighting change indicates a change of location. KATE moves into the new light, and begins to whisper.

Now yiz are in the Willingdone museyroom. Of course you remember who Willingdone was? That sainted Irishmen that led the English to beat the dickens outa that devil Italian what led the French. Micks versus Nicks as you might say. Here ye have some wax impressions of them.

Indicating SHAUN and SHEM, who have posed appropriately, SHEM turning his hat up and placing a hand inside his jacket a la Bonaparte.

Ye'll be familiar with the types, I think: they're always at it, one against t'other—though united in hatred of unholy patrimony. Now what else? [pointing out imaginary objects in the audience] This is a Prooshious gunn. This is a ffrinch. This is the flag of the Prooshious, the Cup and Soracer. This is the bullet that byng the flag of the Prooshious. This is the ffrinch that fired the Bull that byng the flag of the Prooshious. Is all that clear? Have you had enough? [confidentially] I could show you the two jinnies that got Willingdone's band up, but I'll save it for another time. Mind your boots goan out!

The light change is reversed, and she appears to be climbing back out of FINN’s head.

Phew! What a warm time we were in there, but how cooling is the air hereabouts. So much for Willingdone. Now as for herself, we know where she lives, but you mussna tell annaone.

Referring to ALP, who, in a sort of hysterical bird-like caricature, is gathering fragments into a gunnysack (she collects remains of mock eucharist from among the audience).

On every blast knollyrock you'll see that gnarlybird gathering into her gunnysack...

TOM. A runalittle, stopalittle...

IZZY. Doalittle, eatalittle...

SHEM. Peealittle, wipealittle...

SHAUN. Kicksalittle... [aiming one at Shem's backside]

KATE. ...kenalittle gnarlybird, with her baggy on her backy, picking here and pecking there, stealing our historic presents from the past...

TOM. ...so as to make us all lordy heirs and ladymaidesses of a pretty nice kettle of fruit.

KATE. She knows her night’s duty while Thunder One sleeps.

IZZY. So that even if Humpty's shell fell frumpty times as awkward again, when he dumptied the wholeborrow of rubbages on to soil here...

ALP. There'd be eggs for brekkers come to mourn him, sunny side up with care. [exits]

TOM. Will we ever see his like again?

SHEM. Aye! Let's drink to him, from earsend to arsend. For there would not be a steeple on the town nor a vestal flouting in the dock, nor you nor I without him.

TOM. He dug in and dug out, for himself and all belonging to him, earned his bread by the sweat of his crew, and delivered us to death, that mighty liberator!

SHAUN. Begad he did, our ancestor most worshipful, and would again could whisp’ring grassies wake him...

KATE. And may again when the fiery bird dismembers...

IZZY. And will again if so be sooth by elder to his youngers shall be said.

SHAUN. [begins to sing and the others join in, to the tune of "Molly Malone"]Have you wines for my wedding?

ALL. Did you bring bride and bedding? Will you whoop for my deading, My darling one's Wake?

SHEM. More whiskey!

At the sound of the word "whiskey," the old man attempts to rise, the eyes of the puppet rolling and the mouth working.

HCE/FINN. Soul of the devil!? Did ye take me for a doornail? Give us some of that drink!

They stop drinking and nervously leave the bar to look at Finn's open-eyed head. Tom moves closer to talk to him confidentially.

TOM. Now be aisy good Mister Finnimore, sir. And take your laysure like a God on pension and don't be walking abroad.

KATE. Sure, you'd only lose yourself now the way your roads are that winding after the calvary, and wet your feet maybe with the foggy dew's abroad.

SHEM. Meeting some sick old bankrupt or a slut snoring with an impure infant on a bench. 'Twould turn you against life, so 'twould.

SHAUN. And the weather's that mean too.

IZZY. To part from Devlin is hard, but let your ghost have no grievance.

HCE/FINN. [childishly plaintive] But I’m not altogether sure that I wants to go on bein’ a giant buried under the earth.

TOM. Ah, but sure, you're better off, sir, where you are...

KATE. Aye, primesigned in the full of your dress, remembering the pillow of your babycurls by the keld water.

SHAUN. And we'll be coming here to rake your gravel and bringing you presents, won't we fenians? And it isn't our spittle we'll stint you of, is it druids?

DRINKERS. [turning back to their drinking with a toast] Skull!

HCE/FINN. So I’m not to be forgotten entirely.

TOM. Not at all, not at all! Your fame is spreading like Basilico's ointment. The men here's always talking of you sitting over the bowls of memory, with a pledge till the dregs, in the Salmon house.

DRINKERS. [drinking] Skull!

KATE. There never was a warlord in Great Errines and Brettland, no, nor in all Pike County like you—

TOM. —they say.

IZZY. No, nor a king nor an ardking, bung king, sung king or hung king.

SHEM. So may the priest of seven worms an scalding tayboil come never near you as your hair grows wheater beside the Liffey that's in heaven!

DRINKERS. [drinking] Skull! [they move into darkness]

HCE/FINN. But however are they making out at home with me deep in the earth as I am.

TOM. Everything's going on the same, or so it appears to all of us here, sir. The childrens is attending school regular, spelling beesknees and turning out tables by mudapplication. All for the books and never pegging smashers after Tom Bowe Glassarse or Timmy the Tosser. Well, almost never.

These little vignettes should look like footage from silent home movies. Maybe a strobe would help. SHAUN appears; he is confident, affable; he shows off some fisticuffs and footwork, then laughs to show it was all a lark, smiles genially, arms akimbo.

Shaun's just a doat with his cherub cheek, playing postman's knock round the diggings.

HCE/FINN. You’re not for telling me that that great hulk of a man is the wee boy?

TOM. Aye, and if the seep were milk, you could leave Isolde by his side.

SHEM appears; he is sardonic, insolent. He pretends to smooth his moustache, smirking as he “flips the bird” to the viewer.

But laus sake, the devil does be in that Shem sometimes, the tar and tan plaidboy—

HCE/FINN. Sure, he’s grown too!

TOM. —forever writin’ a bluestreak all over his bourseday shirt.

IZZY appears, and dances a few sexy-but-basically-wholesome Irish folk-dance steps.

And lovely Izzy, that child of Mary, has let down her skirts and is dancing at Lanner's twicenightly with the tambarine tamtammers of the whirligigamagees. Oh, 'twould dilate your heart to go!

HCE/FINN. That’s never little Izzy! Will ye look at her now!

TOM. Aisy now, ye decent man, lie quiet and repose your honour's lordship.

KATE appears, saucily flirting.

I've an eye on old Kate and the butter, trust me. She'll do no jugglywuggly with her war souvenir postcards, assure you sure.

ALP appears, languid, knowing and alluring.

I seen your missus in the hall. Like the queen of Eire. If you only were there to talk to her nice of guldenselver. The lips would moisten once again. As when you drove with her to Findrinny Fair. What with the rein here and the ribbons there all your hands were employed so she never knew was she on land or at sea. She was flirtsome then and she's fluttersome yet. Her hair's as brown and wivey as it ever was. [Finnegan stirs] Repose you now. Go, and Finn no more!

HCE appears, totally bewildered.

For, be that samesake substitute of a hooky salmon, there's a big roddy ram lad at random on the premises, as it is told me. Humphrey Chimpden Earwicker.

HCE. [relieved] So it’s alive I am again? And no giant?

TOM. [not quite replying to HCE, still speaking to FINN] But a grand fella—the grandest! —Though, sure, there's a scandal whispered of here and there. An awful scandal. Or, it may be, no scandal at all. For, ye see, this hefty chunk of everyman, this H.C.E, was either everseen doing what your fourfootlers saw or he was never done seeing what you coolpigeons know. However the truth 'twas of the story of the one that spied on two and was caught by three, 'tis sure for one thing, that the man has been reproaching himself like a fishmummer ever since. And it is he and no counter he who will be ultimendly respunchable for the hubbub caused in Edenborough. [exits, with puppet head]

HCE. [isolated in a spot of light] So that’s the name I’m to go by now? Earwicker? That’s hardly Irish! [aside] What sort of name is that to put upon a man, and him defenseless with sleep!

2. The Park Escapade.

ALP. [stepping into HCE’s spot] Alright. Setting aside for the nonce the case of the two girls in the park, and concerning ourselves with the genesis of Humphrey Chimpden's agnomen, the best authenticated version has it that it was this way.

She leads HCE into position.

In the beginning it came to pass that the grand old gardener was saving daylight under his redwoodtree one sultry sabbath afternoon in prefall paradise, when:

Outdoor scene, shady garden light. TOM runs on, a caricature of a peasant servant.

TOM. Beggin’ yer pardon sir, but yer royalty is pleased to have halted itself up there on the highroad.

HCE. Sure, what do I care? The bloody Lord can kiss my—

ALP. Forgetful of all save his vassal’s plain fealty, Humphrey— Ahem!

TOM. That’d be you, boyo.

HCE. Alright, hold yer horses!

ALP. —stayed not to yoke or saddle but stumbled out hotface as he was, his sweatful bandanna loose from his pocketcoat.

HCE. Alright, alright. [muttering] Jaisus.

SHAUN enters from the opposite end, wearing a ludicrous moustache, crown and cape. IZZY and KATE follow close behind, as his “retinue.”

ALP. His majesty, who was, or often feigned to be, noticeably longsighted from green youth—

SHAUN [looking into the distance, muttering in lower class dialect] Will ye just look at them potholes? Sure, a feckin’ disgrace they are.

ALP. —may have been meaning to ask after the state of yon causeway, but asked substitutionally, so as to be put wise:

SHAUN. So, uh...[upper class] tell me, is it the paternoster or the silver doctors that you fancy most for lobster bait these days?

HCE. Naw, yer maggers, I were jist a cotchin’ on them bloody earwuggers.

ALP. Our sailor lord smiled most heartily beneath his walrus moustaches and turned towards two of his retinue.

SHAUN. How our red brother would audibly fume did he know that we have up here for bailiwick a turnpiker who is by turns a pikebailer no seldomer than an earwigger!

General sycophantic laughter, as at a great witticism, from everyone except HCE.

HCE. Ye what?

SHAUN. Earwicker shalt ye be called then, wickling into ears everywhere!

He takes a sword from one of his “retinue” and “knights” HCE brutally, then exits swiftly. The “retinue” breaks up, and drifts to the corners in the shadows. TOM sits at the bar.

HCE. [ironically] Gee, thanks. [mutters] No sense at all…

ALP. Whether this be a true account of his nomingentilisation or not, in any case, the great fact emerges that after that historic date, all documents so far exhumed signed by our man bear the initials H.C.E.

KATE. [from shadows] Here Comes Everybody?

IZZY. [from shadows] Haveth Children Everywhere?

TOM. [from bar] Habituels Conspicuously Emergent?

HCE. No, its Humphrey Chimpden—

IZZY and KATE exit; TOM turns back to his drink.

ALP. A baser meaning has been read into these characters the literal sense of which decency can safely scarcely hint.

HCE. What’s that?

ALP. It has been blurringly bruited by certain wisecrackers that he suffered from a vile disease.

SHEM. [entering with soldiers’ jackets and sitting at the bar] His Clap Engorgedness.

ALP. To such a suggestion the one self-respecting answer is—

HCE. You shut yer gob!

ALP. —is to affirm that there are certain statements which ought not to be, and one should like to be able to add, ought not to be allowed to be made.

HCE. Bloody right.

ALP. Nor have his detractors mended their case by insinuating that he lay at one time under the ludicrous imputation of annoying certain persons in the people’s park.

HCE. Hey, hey, hey!

ALP. To anyone who knew and loved the christlikeness of the big clean-minded giant H.C. Earwicker, the mere suggestion of him as a lustsleuth nosing for trouble in a boobytrap rings particularly preposterous.

HCE. “Christlike,” aye, that’s the way of it.

ALP. Yet truth compels one to add that there is said to have been some case of the kind implicating, even though slander, let it lie its flattest, has never been able to convict our good Earwicker of any graver impropriety than this. Three soldiers—

Lighting change. TOM, SHAUN and SHEM have donned the uniform jackets, and now become the three drunken and belligerent soldiers .

TOM. One.

SHAUN. Two.

SHEM. And three.

ALP. —who did not dare deny that they had that day consumed their soul of the corn, asseverated as follows.

SHAUN. Oh, we saw the dirty beggar alright!

SHEM. Saw what he done. How he behaved.

TOM. Wid ungentilmensky immodusy.

ALP. Opposite a pair of dainty damsels—

IZZY and KATE enter, looking a bit sluttish.

IZZY. One.

KATE. And two.

ALP. —who had crept into a rushy hollow, whither, they claimed—

IZZY. Dame nature in all innocency—

KATE. —spontaneously, at about the same hour of eventide—

IZZY & KATE. Sent us both.

IZZY. [beat] It was admittedly a little incautious.

KATE. But only a partial exposure.

IZZY. A first offence.

KATE. On a warm summer night.

IZZY. With a ripe occasion for it.

ALP. Alas, their published testimonies, where not dubiously pure, are, like those of the soldiers, visibly divergent one from the other.

IZZY and KATE haul HCE out the door. TOM, SHAUN and SHEM have retrieved instruments and begin playing at the bar.

ALP. But what was it allegedly then that he did?

HCE. Allegedly, mind, allegedly,

ALP. The river-like rumours poured forth all as one scurrilous lampoon, The Ballad of Persse O’Reilly. [goes behind bar]

Behind the frosted glass doorway, we see HCE, IZZY & KATE perform shadow plays of the various scenarios described.

The Ballad of Persse O'Reilly

TOM. Have you heard of one Humpty Dumpty?SHAUN. How he fell with a roll and a rumbleSHEM. And curled up like Lord Olofa CrumpleTOM. By the butt of the Magazine wall,ALL. Of the Magazine wall,

Hump, helmet and all!

SHAUN. He was one time the King of the Castle,Now he's out like a rotten old parsnip,

TOM. And off he will go for the rest of his daysTo the penal jail of Mountjoy.

ALL. To the jail of Mountjoy,Jail him and joy!

HCE appears, strolling and smoking a cigar; then the two girls appear; the two parties flirtatiously greet one another.

TOM. It was one fine midsummer night strollingThrough greeny old Phoenix park garden

SHEM. That our heavyweight Humphrey did play the wee monkeyAnd made bold some maidens to woo!

KATE & IZZY. Not one maiden but twoWould their maidenheads rue!

ALP. And what then was our man seen to do?

We see HCE enter, look around furtively, then crouch to defecate. KATE and IZZY come upon him, giggling. They mime shock, astonishment.

SHEM. It was squat by the monument’s shadowThat he thought he would let down his backtrap But our two smirking girlies they came close to gawk

TOM. What they saw was no shite to be seenSHEM & TOM. Not by old ones nor wean

Far too much H-E-seen.

HCE. [poking his head around the door] A pack of dirty lies!

SHAUN. Arragh, y’eejit, that wasn’t the way of it at all.

SHEM. Alright, boyo, you have a go at it.

KATE and IZZY come on, and hoist their skirts and squat to urinate. HCE, behind them, begins to masturbate. The two women see him, are shocked, but a little amused.

SHAUN. Now yer two dainty maids that we tell ofHeard a desperate call from Ma NatureSo in innocence crouched, and poised to make answer

TOM. When they saw himself taken in hand SHAUN & TOM. And like beating the band

Trying to onanist land.

HCE. [poking his head through the door to audience] I nivver did, you know!

TOM. You boys don’t know the half of it, I tell you.

This time we see HCE enter with KATE and IZZY. While he is kissing one the other undresses, exposing herself to HCE; the three begin a menage a trois.

TOM. He should blush, the old scoundrelous lecherThe way he gave himself up to temptation.

SHAUN. Begob, he's the primitive limit of lust SHEM. From an antediluvial zoo,MEN. Siring primates he’d do

Noah's larks, good as noo!

IZZY returns from behind the door during this verse, doing up her blouse; KATE, who had revealed more, the verse after.

ALP. So snug he was there in his premises SHEM. But soon we'll bonfire his trash and his trumperyIZZY. For 'tis short till the sheriff'll wind up his act

And with bailiffs pound at the door,

ALL. Bimbam at the door,Then he'll bum no more.

HCE. [pokes his head out] Lies and filth! Tis nothing but lies and filth!

IZZY. 'Tis sore pity for his innocent childrenTOM. But look out for his missus legitimate!

When that frau gets a grip of old EarwickerWon't there be earwigs on the green?

ALL. Earwigs on the green,Largest ever ye seen!

TOM. And not all the king's men nor his horsesWill res-ur-rect his corpus

KATE. For there's no true spell in Connacht or hellThat's able to raise a Cain!

ALL. No raising again!Not for Humphrey Chimp-dane!

SHEM. Leg-before-Wicked, lags behind wall, where here Mr Wicker, whacked a great fall!

Blackout. ALL exit except ALP, who remains behind the bar, and KATE, who is occupied with cleaning.

3. Arrest & Conviction.

HCE. [appearing from behind the door, cautiously] Jaisus! [with the tone of “talk about yer tight corners...”] You spoof about visibility in a freakfog!? Of mixed sex cases among goats, hill cat and plain mousey, Bigamy Bob and his old Shanvocht!? That bloody ballad was nothing but trouble!

ALP. Aye, therewith was released a poisoning volume of cloud barrage indeed! Of course, all they who heard or redelivered it are now as much no more as they had never been. Yet the main personalities and their contraries continue to reamalgamerge in an indentity of undiscernibles.

KATE. All of which might be set to lights if one ever were to clap eyes on a certain letter dictated by herself.

ALP. But, to proceed.

Lighting change. She raps a glass or the bodhran stick on the bar to create a gavel effect, pulls her shawl over her head so that it resembles a magistrate’s powdered wig. SHAUN enters in a bobby’s cap, followed closely by SHEM in a barrister’s wig and tie.

Long Lally Tompkins, the special constable who made the arrest swore upon the stand:

SHAUN. I was up against a right queer sort of man, who went and hickicked against ALL the rules, upon my oath.

SHEM. You are deepknee in error, sir.

ALP. Came the reply.

SHEM. Our man’s excesses were instigated by one or either of the causing causes of all, those two hollow heroines aforetold.

KATE & IZZY. [appearing from the shadows] Oh! Oh!

SHEM. Because, it is a horrible thing to have to say, but one shortly after—

KATE. —in a fit of unexpectedness—

KATE “drinks.”

SHEM. —drank carbolic.

KATE drops “the bottle” and, shuddering on her way down, says:

KATE. [tragically] With all her dear placid life before her!

KATE “dies.”

SHEM. While the other soiled dove, one day while dodging chores...

IZZY. [flashing HCE]...stripped teasily for binocular man...

SHEM. Then rapidly took to necking, partying and selling her party favours.

IZZY. ...in the haymow [posing with SHEM] or in lumber closets [posing with TOM] or in the wet churchyard close itself [leaping on HCE and knocking him to the ground with her on top of him in a compromising position].

ALP. Be that as it may, tempted Humphrey had tumbled.

Lighting change. IZZY rises, and TOM, SHEM and SHAUN drive HCE out the door.

TOM. Ye dirty beggar!

SHAUN. Filth!

ALP. So, he was triple-padlocked inside a cell by his faithful porters.

HCE is put behind the entry door, and backlit by barred gobo, so we see his silhouette as if in jail.

HCE. A cell? Whatever for?

ALP. Possibly in case he felt like sticking out his chest too far and and tempting gracious providence by a public stroll. There long-suffering Earwicker sat in a corner, keeping a long list of all abusive names he was called.

The three men taunt him from the shadows. The sound of rain begins.

TOM. Firstnighter!

SHEM. Informer!

SHAUN. Old Fruit!

TOM. Tight before teatime!

SHEM. Bogside Beauty!

SHAUN. Gob’s curse!

TOM. Edomite!

SHEM. Sick Fish Bellyup!

SHAUN. Lobster-pot Lardling!

TOM. Fast in the Barrel!

SHEM. Woolworth’s Worst!

SHAUN. Mister Fatmate!

HCE. Hey, now...!

ALP. But Earwicker, anarchistically respectful of the liberties of the noninvasive individual, did not respond a solitary word.

HCE. Alright, me lips are sealed.

TOM. Come outside, so we can brainslog you and burst ye dizzy!

HCE is motionless. The three men go off, grumbling.

SHEM. Guilty pig’s bastard!

SHAUN. Broody old fishguts!

TOM. [savagely] Artist!

Lights fade to black except for a spot on ALP.

ALP. But silent Earwicker slumbers. Words weigh no more to him than raindrops. Which we all like. Rain. When we sleep... Drops... But wait until our sleeping... Drain... Stops.